


maxwell's silver hammer

by LoserEddie



Category: Trading Places - Fandom
Genre: A crossover but not really, Gen, Murder, this is based from discord so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:48:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24845569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoserEddie/pseuds/LoserEddie
Summary: Louis Winthorpe took an axe, and gave his lover forty whacks. When he saw what he had done, he gave his butler forty-one.___bang bang maxwell's silver hammer came down upon his head (doo doo doo doo doo). that song is a BANGER lemme tell you
Relationships: Louis Winthorpe III/Penelope Witherspoon
Kudos: 2





	maxwell's silver hammer

A blood-stained axe rested in the grip of a once proud man. No, it wasn’t the pride that left him, it was the sense of humanity. Louis could only be described as a husk now, an empty being with the mask of a person. He feared the day his true desires were exposed. But now, as he stared down at two broken bodies, those feelings of dread were replaced with the rush of adrenaline, like a shot of speedball coursing through his veins. This high still caused his hands to shake, his mind to buzz, yet never had he felt so happy- so alive. Was this what living truly felt like?

Penelope; oh, sweet, darling Penelope. He crouched by her side, running his fingers through the brown hair that now mixed with a gorgeous shade of red, a color that almost perfectly matched her smeared lipstick. When he hit his lowest point, she turned away with a sneer. No pity, let alone respect, for a thing she claimed to love. And Coleman, overwhelmingly loyal until the aspect of money came to play. Well, Louis wouldn’t judge: he’d choose a bit of pay over any poor fool’s life. Why else would he send an axe into his faithful butler’s skull?

This house, a place he once adored, would soon be nothing but a distant memory. There would be no particularly fond thoughts, not unless he chose to recall this thrilling event. That is, if the liquor didn’t wipe it from his mind. Well, he could still remember who he was to become: the ID of “Patrick Bateman” certainly helped with that. Born October 31st, 1962; certainly not far from his own birthday, but he liked to think he could easily pass as a twenty-six. “Living” in what could be considered luxury, there was no strenuous effort that would cause him to physically age any faster. Yes, this new identity would fit him perfectly. All he needed were new clothes and some connections.

On a couch splattered in blood, Louis lit a cigar, dress shoes mere inches away from the sliced corpses of Coleman and Penelope. Smoke mixed with the scent of blood, a sickeningly sweet smell to the young commodities broker. Or, shall I say, ex-commodities broker. From that day on, Louis Winthorpe, faithful employee, could only be found in the local newspaper as a missing man. A new life awaited in the bustling borough of Manhattan. Filled with cheap narcotics, flowing wine, and heads full of lead that were begging to be severed. Oh, he could hardly contain his excitement. Now, when should he book that plane ticket?


End file.
